The Fallen Fortress

by R. A. Salvatore

  Aballister stopped in the doorway and eyed the younger wizard suspiciously. “You viewed it through your crystal ball,” he hissed, considering the device on the table before Dorigen.

  “I view it in your expression,” Dorigen quickly replied, fearing that the wizard would handle her as he had handled the door.

  She tossed her long salt-and-pepper hair back from her face, ran her crooked fingers through it, and went through a myriad of other movements, all designed to deflect Aballister’s mounting rage.

  Truly, the older wizard seemed on the verge of an explosion. His deep-set dark eyes narrowed dangerously, bony fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  “Your worries are plain to see,” Dorigen said bluntly, knowing that it was precisely that fact that most bothered the wizard. Aballister was a man who prided himself on being able to sublimate his emotions, on remaining cryptic at all times so that his enemies and rivals couldn’t find any emotional advantage to use against him. “To remain calm and distant is the secret of a wizard’s strength,” the coldhearted Aballister had often said in the past, but such was not the case, not with pesky Cadderly apparently making some headway in his try for Castle Trinity.

  “You viewed it with your crystal ball,” Aballister accused again, his voice a low growl, and Dorigen knew it would be unwise for her to disagree a second time.

  “The chimera and manticore have been defeated?” Dorigen stated as much as asked, something she’d suspected since Aballister’s last visit to her room, when he’d grown outraged that their scrying would no longer work.

  Aballister admitted the loss with a nod. “And now the undead monster,” Dorigen went on.

  “I don’t know if Cadderly played a part in that,” Aballister snapped. “I have Druzil looking into the matter even as we speak.”

  Dorigen nodded, but privately didn’t agree at all. If the spirit had been destroyed, the formidable Cadderly was surely behind it. And whether he would openly admit it or not, Aballister knew it, too.

  “Have we anything else with which to strike out at him?” Dorigen asked.

  “Have you located him with your precious crystal ball?” Aballister growled back.

  Dorigen looked away, not wanting her superior to see the rage in her amber eyes. If he considered her scrying attempts pitiful, why didn’t Aballister take on the task himself? Aballister was no novice to scrying, after all. He’d watched Barjin’s movements when the priest had entered Castle Trinity, had even destroyed his valuable enchanted mirror by forcing his magic through it. Since that time, Aballister had not attempted any scrying at all, except one failed attempt earlier in Dorigen’s room.

  “Well, have you?” Aballister demanded.

  Dorigen snapped an angry glare over him. “Simple spells can counteract scrying,” she replied. “And I assure you, your son has little trouble with simple spells!”

  Aballister’s eyes widened, the old wizard seeming shocked that Dorigen had spoken so bluntly to him, had emphasized once more that the danger to Castle Trinity was being perpetrated by Aballister’s own son. The wizard virtually trembled with anger and briefly considered lashing out with his power to punish Dorigen.

  “Prepare your defenses,” Dorigen said to him.

  Again, her bluntness stunned the older wizard. “Cadderly will never get close to Castle Trinity,” Aballister promised, an evil grin spreading over his face, calming him. “The time has come for me to personally see to that troublesome child.”

  “You will go out?” Dorigen’s tone was incredulous.

  “My magic will go out,” Aballister corrected. “The mountains themselves will shudder, and the sky will cry for the death of that foolish boy. Let us see how a priest measures up against a wizard!” He cackled gleefully and turned away, sweeping out of the room.

  Dorigen rested back in her chair and stared at the blasted portal, its jamb still smoldering long after Aballister had departed. She would keep trying with the crystal ball, more out of curiosity than for Aballister’s sake. In truth, Dorigen believed she might have made some contact just a few moments before Aballister had disturbed her, but she couldn’t be sure so she didn’t mention it to the pestering wizard. It had been just a fleeting sensation of rushing air, a sensation of freedom, of flying.

  Though she couldn’t be sure she’d actually made contact with Cadderly, if it was the young priest, Dorigen suspected he would soon be knocking on Castle Trinity’s door.

  Aballister didn’t need to know that.

  ELEVEN

  STRAFING

  Enemies?” Fyrentennimar’s thunderous question made the six terribly vulnerable companions hold their breath in dread.

  “We are friends,” Cadderly replied weakly as the dragon went into a series of short stoops and quick rises, as close to a hovering maneuver as the bulky creature could accomplish.

  Fyrentennimar’s serpentine neck twisted, putting his head at a half-cocked position, almost like some curious dog.

  “Are they enemies?” the dragon roared again. They? Cadderly noted curiously, hopefully.

  “Who?”

  Fyrentennimar bobbed his head and erupted with laughter. “Of course, of course!” he cried, his voice no longer carrying an edge of hysteria. “Your eyes are not so keen as mine. I must remember that.”

  “What potential enemies do you speak of?” Cadderly asked impatiently, realizing that Fyrentennimar’s aimless banter might continue for some time, and his enchantment might not.

  “Back on the trail,” the dragon explained. “A procession of goblins and giants.”

  Cadderly turned to Danica and Shayleigh. “We should continue on our way,” he offered. “I can bid Fyrentennimar to let us down far from the monstrous caravan.”

  “How many?” Shayleigh asked, one hand tightly grasping her bow and an eager sparkle in her violet eyes. Both Cadderly and Danica knew from that look that the elf maiden had no wish to simply pass the monsters by.

  Cadderly looked to Danica for support. When it was not immediately forthcoming, he continued, “I don’t know how long the dragon will remain calm. The risk—”

  “All the flight is a risk,” Danica replied, and Shayleigh seemed to approve.

  “If Shilmista was your home, you would not be so quick to allow giants and goblins to return to their holes,” the elf maiden said to Cadderly. “We of the wood know well what the spring will bring upon us.”

  “If we destroy Castle Trinity, the monsters might not return,” Cadderly reasoned.

  “If you were of Shilmista, would you take that chance?”

  Danica nodded at Shayleigh’s logic, but her smile disappeared when she regarded Cadderly’s grim expression. “Let us allow our friends to decide,” the monk offered.

  Not realizing how much the surly Ivan had come to enjoy flying, Cadderly readily agreed. Ivan, Pikel, and Vander, enjoying the short, fluttering hops of the great red, had remained oblivious to the discussion.

  “Ivan!” Danica called back to the dwarf. “Would you care for the chance to smash a few goblin heads?”

  The yellow-bearded dwarf roared, Pikel squeaked in glee, and Danica turned a smug smile back Cadderly’s way. The young priest scowled, thinking Danica’s methods unfair—what dwarf would say no to that question?

  “Let us use our new ally to our best advantage,” Shayleigh said to the defeated young priest.

  Cadderly relaxed against the scaly dragon neck, trying to sort things out. He knew they should go straight on to Castle Trinity, that any detour or delay could jeopardize their chance for success later, especially if the dragon escaped his enchantment.

  But was he ready for Castle Trinity? After his fight to destroy the Ghearufu and his titanic struggle with Ghost, Cadderly wasn’t so sure. Up to then, he’d been primarily concerned with the Ghearufu, but with that task out of the way, he’d begun to look ahead—to powerful wizards and a well-trained army, entrenched in a secluded mountain fortress.

  Cadderly needed time to catch his
breath and to better consider the dangers at the end of his intended road. He decided that an attack on the goblin band, with a dragon on his side, might actually serve as a reprieve.

  And he couldn’t, in good conscience, deny Shayleigh’s fears for Shilmista, or the plaintive, determined expression on her fair face. The young priest had to admit, to himself at least, that there was something alluring about the idea of experiencing unleashed dragon power from a secure vantage point.

  “I believe that they are enemies, mighty Fyrentennimar,” Cadderly called back to the unusually patient dragon. “Is there anything we might do against them?”

  In answer, the dragon dipped one wing and dropped into a stoop, plummeting at breakneck speed then leveling out and using his momentum to begin a great rush around the mountain. From that lower altitude, the friends had no trouble spotting the monstrous caravan, several hundred strong and with a fair number of giants among the shuffling, hunched goblinoid ranks, trudging along a trail in a narrow valley bordered by steep, rocky walls.

  Fyrentennimar kept close to the ridges, circling away from the monsters. In mere heartbeats, the valley and the caravan seemed far removed.

  “Do tell me, humble priest,” the obviously eager dragon implored Cadderly, who looked to his friends once more, to confirm the decision, and found five bobbing heads staring back at him.

  “They are enemies,” Cadderly confirmed. “What is our role in the battle?”

  “Your role?” the great beast echoed. “Hang on to my spiked spine with all your pitiful strength!”

  The dragon banked, his wings going nearly perpendicular to the ground, which drew another cry of glee from Ivan and Pikel. Then he shot off around a tall peak. The friends felt warmth growing within the wyrm, the flaring fires of Old Fyren’s ire. Reptilian eyes narrowed, and in realizing the wyrm’s mounting intensity, Cadderly wasn’t so certain he liked the whole scenario.

  They came around the base of the mountain into the entrance to the narrow valley, still in a tight bank, the rock walls rushing past the six astonished friends in a dizzying blur. The dragon leveled and dipped even lower, the tips of his wide wings only a dozen feet or so from the sheer walls. The goblins and giants at the rear of the caravan turned and let out terrified shrieks, but so swift was the dragon’s flight that they had no time to even break ranks before Fyrentennimar was upon them.

  A searing line of fire strafed the trailing monsters. Goblins curled up into charred balls and mighty giants toppled, slapping futilely at the deadly flames as their bodies were consumed.

  Acrid smoke rose in the dragon’s wake. His flames were exhausted before he’d gotten very far into the long line, but Fyrentennimar proudly stayed low to let his enemies see him, and fear him.

  All around the valley, the monsters went into an uncontrolled frenzy. Giants squashed goblins and slammed into other giants, and goblins clawed and battled with their own kin, even coming to sword blows in their desperation to get away.

  “Oh, my dear Deneir,” Cadderly muttered, awestruck once again by the bared power of the dragon, by the utter terror Fyrentennimar had evoked in those pitiful creatures on the ground.

  No, Cadderly told himself, not pitiful. They were Shilmista’s invaders, the plague that had scarred the elven wood and slaughtered many of elf prince Elbereth’s People. The plague that would undoubtedly return once more in the spring to complete what had been begun.

  Shayleigh, her violet eyes narrow and grim, let fly a few well-aimed bowshots. She saw one goblin aiming a crude bow the dragon’s way, but the dim-witted creature couldn’t calculate the incredible speed, and its shot flew far behind. Shayleigh was the better archer, putting an arrow into the cursing goblin’s filthy mouth.

  Another bowshot followed immediately, knifing into a goblin’s back and dropping the wretched thing dead to the ground.

  Cadderly winced at that one, caught by the realization that the creature was only trying to flee, and posed no threat to them. That notion assaulted the young priest’s sheltered sensibilities.

  Until he again remembered the elven forest, remembered the scars in Shilmista. They were enemies, he decided finally, the taste of vengeance rising in his throat. The young priest fell into the song of Deneir and suddenly wore as grim an expression as that of his elf companion. He heard the notes loud and strong in his head, as though Deneir approved of his decision, and he readily fell into its flow.

  Fyrentennimar banked upward as the valley narrowed. As soon as he’d cleared the steep walls the dragon banked again, steeply, swerving around for another run at the creatures.

  Those monsters at the front of the caravan might have gotten away then, slipped out the narrow end of the valley into the wide expanses where they could have broken ranks.

  Cadderly stopped them.

  He called to the rock walls at the valley’s end, concentrating his magic on one high archway. The closest monster, a fat-bellied giant, rushed through that archway, and the rocks came to life, snapping repeatedly like enormous jaws, chomping the surprised giant into a pile of bloody mush.

  The second giant in line skidded to a stop, eyeing the rocks with blank amazement. Wanting to test the unbelievable trap, the behemoth plucked up a helpless goblin at its side and tossed the creature forward.

  Smacking, munching sounds accompanied the goblin’s screams and continued long after the cries had died away, bits and pieces of the goblin flopping through the barrier on the other side.

  The grisly scene was gone from Cadderly’s sight in a moment as the dragon came around. For the wyrm, the turn was tight, but still huge Fyrentennimar had to travel a great distance from the valley to manage it.

  “Have him put me down,” Danica implored Cadderly.

  “And me!” declared Vander from farther back. The firbolg and Danica exchanged excited looks, eager to fight beside each other.

  Cadderly shook his head at the outrageous idea and closed his eyes, falling back into his chanting.

  “Put me down, Old Fyren!” Danica called out. Cadderly’s eyes popped wide, but the obedient dragon pulled up short beside a ridge, and both Danica and Vander hopped from their perches, running off before Cadderly could react.

  “Hey, we’re missing all the fun!” Ivan realized as the wyrm set off once more, quickly gaining altitude. The dwarf started to call out to the dragon, but Pikel grabbed him by the beard and pulled him close, whispering something into his ear. Ivan roared happily, and both dwarves scrambled from the dragon’s back, one going for each wing.

  “What are you doing?” Cadderly demanded.

  “Just tell the damned wyrm to hold on tight!” Ivan cried back then he disappeared from view, crawling hand over hand down the scaly side. His head popped back up a moment later. “But not too tight!” he added. Then he was gone.

  “What?” Cadderly replied, and it took him a few moments to catch on. “Fyrentennimar!” he cried.

  Danica and Vander sped off for the back and wider end of the valley, looking for any monsters that might have found their way through the stench and smoke. Only a few moments after Fyrentennimar had put them down, with the dragon still flying wide, though angled for his second pass, the two spotted several goblins and a single, lumbering giant coming down a barren, rocky slope, heading directly for them.

  The firbolg and the monk nodded and split up, each seeking the cover of some of the many boulders in the area.

  The goblins and the giant were looking back more than forward, too afraid of the dragon to even think that there might be other danger lurking ahead.

  Danica came out in a rush from the side, hurling one dagger after another, dropping a pair of goblins, and charged forward, diving into a roll before her surprised adversaries and coming up with a flurry of ferocious blows.

  Facial bones were smashed apart, and knifing fingers crushed a windpipe. Before Danica had even played out her momentum, four of the nine goblins lay dead at her feet.

  The giant on the far side of the band turned to m
eet her charge, but noticed a movement back the other way and spun around, huge club at the ready. A goblin rushed by, eyeing Danica and shrieking in fear.

  Vander cleaved it in half.

  “Giantkin,” the club-wielding monster said to Vander in the rolling, thunderous language of their kind.

  Vander snarled and rushed ahead, his greatsword coming across in a blurring arc. The hill giant fell back, throwing its club up in a frantic defense. By sheer luck, the club fell in line with the rushing sword, Vander’s blade driving many inches into the wood.

  Vander tried to pull back on the sword, to retract it and slash again, but the club’s hard wood held it fast.

  The hill giant, much larger and several times heavier than Vander’s eight hundred pounds, rushed forward, letting go of its club and spreading its huge arms out wide to engulf its foe.

  Vander twisted and punched out, connecting solidly but doing little to impede his enemy’s momentum. The firbolg went down heavily, under two tons of hill giant flesh.

  The four remaining goblins looked as much at each other as at Danica, each waiting for one of its companions to make the first move. They circled the apparently unarmed monk, one lifting a spear.

  Since the initial surprise was gone, Danica stayed down in a defensive crouch, preferring to let her enemies come to her. The goblins wisely spread out around her, but she remained confident, turning slowly so that no creature could remain behind her.

  The spear wielder pumped its arm, and Danica started to dive to the right. She stopped almost immediately, though, recognizing the goblin’s move as a feint, and used the break to her advantage, coming back hard to the left, spinning low and straight-kicking one of the other goblins in the knee.

  The creature jerked straight then fell back, clutching its broken limb.

  Danica was already back to circling, eyeing the spear wielder directly, taking its measure, using its body language to discern its every thought.